


Wolves of Gold, Lions of Silver

by counting_cacti



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Kevan is the only reasonable Lannister, Ned and Jaime are bros, Ned isn’t such an Honorable idiot, Tyrion is adorable, Tywin the mentor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 00:07:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/counting_cacti/pseuds/counting_cacti
Summary: A Westeros where Ned Stark is fostered at Casterly Rock and becomes a very different person, with very different friends because of it.Intense plot divergence (if you couldn’t guess)





	Wolves of Gold, Lions of Silver

Sun warmed rock cut into blue sky. A soft breeze stole away the whispering of waves. Gardens glowed with flowers.

The outside world had no right, Jaime thought, no right to be beautiful. It should have changed, been torn apart over the past week. Just as his had.

Many said it would take an army of over 80 thousand to break Casterly Rock. It had walls as tall as the hills, equipped with the best machinery money could buy.  
The Lannisters themselves had trade, wealth, and, so it was said, wits even sharper than their blades.

Many said it would take an army of 80 thousand to break Casterly Rock. In the end, it took the death of one woman. 

There was a sea of black massing on the hill, crawling like ants towards the sept. They were respectfully quiet and dutiful, but Jaime knew his mother wouldn’t have liked her final guests. 

“Colour and laughter are joys of life, my darling, some of the many joys.”

There was no joy in this ceremony. No one was smiling in memory. No one sharing the stories that would make his mother laugh. None of the songs that made her glinting eyes crinkle at the corners. The blonde haired boy hated it. But he would have hated pretending far more. At this time he felt as though he hated everything. 

“May the father judge fairly, the mother have mercy, the crone…” The Septon’s voice droned on like a bee, emotionless and bland, draped in religious sanctimony. He was an ancient man, face sunken like an ill-fitting mask, and teeth the colour of Lannister gold. He even dribbled as he talked, flecks leaping from his mouth and making Jaime want to recoil.

‘Another thing mother would hate,’ the young boy thought sullenly. He may as well keep a list at this point. 

He would have liked to say as much to his twin standing next to him, but quickly thought the better of it. If Jaime’s grief made him sullen, Cersei’s made her furious. 

He’d heard her screaming all through the past few days, though had tried to turn out the words. They were sickening coming from his older sister’s mouth.

“She doesn’t mean it,” his uncle Kevan had said softly. “She’s just grieving.” 

But Jaime knew the mild-mannered Lannister didn’t believe it. He knew guards had been posted outside the room of his newborn brother. He knew that his father hadn’t been the one to do it.

But he hadn’t said any of that, only nodded and said softly. “What will we do?

The small question, despondent and overwhelmed and been the final blow to his Uncle’s calm armour. Jaime had found himself crushed into the blonde man's chest, Kevan’s tears dripping onto the back of his neck. 

“We do our best Jaime. We try to do our best.”

The young boy hadn’t seen his Uncle since.

 

“Lordling, it’s time to go.” 

Ser Jason Lefford a second son of a second son, had become Jaime’s favoured person in the past few days. The young knight’s own mother had died when he was not ten years old and he understood the small Lannister where many others couldn’t.  
He understood Jaime’s need to stay busy, run around, hit things. He encouraged it even.

“You keep that anger inside you and you go rotten.”

The sentiment, true as it may be, made Jaime’s stomach turn. He wanted so desperately to be good, be the perfect knight, but he felt as though he’d lost sight of what that was. An entire layer of his life had been torn away, a shield shattered and now he was vulnerable in ways he hadn’t ever imagined. 

The sept around him was starting to move, spin almost, people walking past faster than flashes of light, their voices becoming a fuzzy hum.  
But he could see her, so clearly. So clearly, he could almost reach out and touch her. 

Joanna Lannister was laid out, skin a soft white, her hair a golden cape. Stomach still swollen in a mockery of life. But her eyes were covered, blanked out by stones etched with pale green.  
Why were they so pale? Her eyes hadn’t been that colour had they?  
The numbness in Jaime’s chest tightened when he realized he couldn’t remember.  
Something was pulling him back. Ser Jason was pulling his arm, Jaime realized he must have stepped forward. 

“Lordling. We have to go. Please.”  
The small Lannister turned and left the sept without a word.

 

\-------------

“You promised you’d always be there Ned. You promised.”

It was typical of Lyanna to throw such a thing in his face. Conjure up words spoken years before to suit her purpose, then conveniently forget them moments later. She was a manipulative thing his sister. Wild as wolf, with just as strong a bite. Often the only way to avoid it was to apologise.

“I’m sorry Lya, truly, I don’t want to go either, but…”

“But what?” She interrupted, angry tears glinting against steel eyes. “You’re too scared to tell it to father? Well maybe if you weren’t always so stupidly perfect all the time this wouldn’t have happened.”  
With that the dark haired girl whirled around and ran, leaping over roots and dodging red adorned branches.

Ned felt as if she’d punched the air out of him. After anger wore off, he felt only hurt.  
Was that what she truly thought? That he was some craven?  
He didn’t want to go, of course he didn’t, but what difference did make? His father would hardly cancel careful plans simply because it wasn’t what his 8 year old son wanted. 8 year old second born son at that. 

The dark-haired boy slumped against a tree and sighed, letting out a great gust of air. It coloured white in the winter air, swirling like steam from a pot. Ned wondered idly if it was from this vapour that clouds were made. Thousands of breaths mingling in the sky.  
The daydream was a welcome distraction, carrying him far up, away from his unhappy family.

His family weren’t the only ones who were unhappy. Half the North muttered about Rickard Starks grand schemes or more the woes it would bring them. Ned knew he should always stand by his father, but he found himself agreeing with them.

The North was the North. The South was the South. That was the way of it and that way shouldn’t change.

“I thought I’d find you here sulking.”

“I don’t sulk.” Ned retorted sulkily, with a sulky expression.

Brandon laughed, an echoing noise that seemed to vibrate through the weirwood. “Aye and Targaryens aren’t mad as cats.” 

Ned tilted his head to look up at his brother.

“I suppose you’ve come to yell at me too?”

Brandon’s eyes softened with something akin to sympathy, an unusual expression for him. The older Stark was nearing 14 namedays and usually had little time for his younger siblings. Ned supposed he should be grateful for the attention, but the context more than slightly ruined it.

“It would be different if it was the Vale. Or even Riverrun. We may have no love for the fishes but they’re not….. You know.”

“Greedy, ambitious, spiteful.” Ned sighed again, “I’ve heard a great deal about my foster father. I daresay I’ll hear a great deal more.”

His brother slid down to sit beside him. 

“Just think of it as a mission. You’re going as a spy, to learn about the Southron ways so we can laugh at them when you return.”

Ned felt a warm tug at the back of his eyes and a thickening in his throat. He looked at the ground, dark fringe half hiding his face. There it was, his most deep-rooted fear.

“What if I don’t come back?”

Silence greeted his words, filled only by the faint sound of crows and rustling of leaves. It was a question neither could answer, a prediction neither could make.   
After moments passed without a sound, Eddard finally dared to look over at the other Stark.

Grey met grey.

“I won’t let them hurt you, Ned. I promise. You’re my brother and if I have to declare war I’ll do it. I swear it.”

The younger boy felt a watery chuckle build his chest. He should have expected as such. “You’re not Lord of Winterfell yet Brandon.”

“No,” his brother said squaring his shoulders. “But I will be.”  
The older boy then stood, draped in wolf pelt, a weir tree at his back. It was hard not to believe him.  
Brandon was every inch a Stark, strong and wild, wolfblood flowing in his veins. He would be Lord of Winterfell like their grandfather, great-grandfather and all the fathers before that.

‘But who will I be?’ Ned thought softly.

Silence was his only answer.

\--------------------

The Lannister twins stood tall straight before their father as he wrote. It was under his word they were summoned but still, he made them wait.

Jaime found it another stinging reminder of how little he mattered.   
Cersei must have felt the same as she fidgeted with her long sleeves, her lips twisting into a pout.  
Jaime tried to lay a hand on hers, to comfort her, but she snatched herself away. It hurt more than their blank-faced father.  
A chasm has opened between the two of them in the long months since their mother died. Deep and painful, it tore at Jaime like festering wound.  
When he reached out again she shoved him as if he were some beggar pulling at her dress.

“Enough both of you.” Tywin Lannister rumbled without looking up. He only ever seemed to know when they were doing something wrong. 

They both replied in mechanical unison. “Sorry father.” 

The golden-haired man snorted but said nothing. It was a good ten minutes before he favoured them with hard disapproving eyes. 

Jaime chose to look at the rich red carpet instead.

“In a month or so I am expecting an arrival from the North. Lord Rickard Stark is sending his second born to foster with us,” He narrowed his gaze ever so slightly. “You will, of course, make him feel comfortable and welcome.” 

“No.”

“What did you say?” The study warmed by the summer sun, chilled. Cersei was not perturbed.

“Why should we have to befriend a savage? Why should we even house him?” Her voice had quickly turned shrill and Jaime new her true upset lay far deeper than Lord Rickard’s son.

Unfortunately, their father did not.

“Why?” Their father’s face could have been made of stone, his tone of ice. “The North is the biggest realm there is, stupid girl. With an army that could even rival ours. That would make them good allies would it not? And how do we make allies?”

Neither Jaime nor Cersei replied.

“SPEAK.” The word was near shouted causing both twins to flinch. 

“Friendships father.” Jaime said softly, while Cersei refused to look up.

Tywin nodded in brief approval. “Thank you Jaime. Lord Rickard’s firstborn would have been preferable, but these Northern types are loyal. Any kindness we show, his brother, the next Lord of Winterfell will likely remember.”

Tywin surveyed both of them for a moment and then, evidently finding everything lacking, dismissed them with a single flick of his hand.  
Cersei all but sprinted from the room very obviously hiding tears. Jaime hesitated.

“How old is he father?”

There was a moment of silence before his father replied. “8 or 9.”

“What’s his name?”

“Eddard. Lord Rickard referred to him as Ned. I believe you may take your pick.”

Deciding to tempt fate (or rather his father’s temper) no longer, the young boy left, silently closing the door behind him. Tywin had already returned to his writing. 

Jaime stood for a few moments in the hall gathering his thoughts. A new brother. Jaime felt a well of excitement despite himself. A new brother, and 2 years his elder too.  
They’d be able to sword fight together, explore the castle, play with Tyrion who, despite everything, had survived.  
‘Ned’. He thought with a smile, playing with the sound. It was a friendly name, like how his Aunt Genna called his Uncle, ‘Kev’. Informal, familiar. A name for family.

Jaime had been lonely for so long now. Ned would be his friend. Riding, hunting, swimming. His smile grew into a grin so wide it almost hurt his face.

He had to go tell Jason. He had to go tell Aunt Genna. He had to go tell everybody. 

The crowded gold halls of Casterly Rock suddenly felt a little less empty.


End file.
